


Slow Motion Fade

by easyluckyfree45



Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [8]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Grand Gestures, Idiots in Love, It's a love story baby just say yes, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Missed Connections, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Photographer!Jug, Photography, Shameless Smut, Smut, photo editor!betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyluckyfree45/pseuds/easyluckyfree45
Summary: It’s Jughead Jones. Jughead Jones is standing in front of her. She thinks back to the email assignment and puts two and two together: Forsythe Pendleton Jones III -- of course.It’s suddenly hard to breathe, kind of like the torturous feeling of when you have the wind knocked out of you. Your chest expands and contracts, trying to fill it with air but it’s physically painful to do so. Her voice dies in her throat for a moment and she forcibly clears it, making a loud noise that causes both Toni and Jughead to look at her with concerned expressions.“I’m so sorry about that,” Betty says, immediately apologizing. “As I was saying, my name is Betty Cooper and I’m one of the photo editors here. I’ve been assigned to work with you both in addition to another photographer so I’m excited about this collaboration.”She is so grateful that she has rattled off this same exact speech for years now so the words are familiar and she can recite them without any issues. Meanwhile, she tries not to panic and instead tries to regain her composure.Photo Editor!Betty and Photographer!Jughead reunite several years laterRiverdale Bingo Summer 2020 - Photography
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, Joaquin DeSantos/Kevin Keller
Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847086
Comments: 89
Kudos: 227
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Riverdale Bingo, Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you to my dearest Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for editing. I love you, always!
> 
> Thank you to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for the beautiful moodboard!
> 
> **Jughead’s photography is based on the work of Edward Weston.**  
> [Pepper](https://edward-weston.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Pepper-1930-30P.jpg)  
> [Cabbage Leaf](https://edward-weston.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Cabbage-Leaf-1931-39V.jpg)  
> [Shell](https://edward-weston.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Shell-1927-1S.jpg)  
> [Onion, Halved](https://www.artic.edu/artworks/120845/onion-halved)
> 
> **Toni’s photography is based on the work of Carrie Mae Weems.**  
> [Museum Series](https://carriemaeweems.net/images/gallery-images/museums/pergamon.jpg)  
> [Mom at Work](http://www.artnet.com/WebServices/images/ll00254lldpb9GFgCZECfDrCWvaHBOcPKTE/carrie-mae-weems-mom-at-work.jpg)  
> [Untitled, From the Kitchen Table Series](https://www.sfmoma.org/artwork/2003.223/)
> 
> **Joaquin’s photography is based on the work of Sergio Larrain.**  
> [Main Street of Corleone, Sicily](https://64.media.tumblr.com/53126b45a94b3493a5c409cac199b48f/tumblr_ny7uo1M8Pt1sorrnlo1_1280.jpg)
> 
> Prompt: Photography

__

_I feel you in my heart and I don't even know you_  
_And now we're saying bye_  
_I was nineteen, call me_  
_I was all alone, you were all I had_  
_Love you_  
_You were all mine_  
_Love me_  
_I was yours, right?_

_“Nineteen” by Tegan and Sara_

_**18 weeks until Opening** _

It looks like a pepper.

She’s not positive that it is though so she leans in a little closer, bringing the black and white photograph so it’s only inches away from her face, her green eyes focusing.

The serpentine curves are enigmatic, curling against themselves, creating soft bends along the main image of the photograph. What captures her eye the most, however, is the point in which the pepper folds in on itself. She’s entranced by it; it leaves her wanting more.

There’s something familiar about this photograph. The sumptuousness of the contours makes her think the photographer treated its subject, the pepper, as more than a vegetable and inanimate object. It’s how one would photograph a lover -- someone they are intimate with.

It’s highly unusual and therefore familiar.

She can’t quite place it.

Betty Cooper taps her ballpoint pen a few times against her mahogany desk before she thumbs through the rest of the portfolio. The other photographs presented are all black and white. She scatters them all across her desk and picks out two other favorites: a cabbage leaf spread out like a delicately stitched ball gown and a shell, photographed head-on, the whiteness of the interior piercing.

All possess the same rawness -- she feels as if she understands what this photographer holds most dear by simply appraising their work.

Intimacy. Sensuality. Lust. Connection.

She shakes herself out of her daze and collects the photographs, organizing them in its original order back in its portfolio folder. Placing it on the ‘accept’ pile, she smiles to herself, satisfied that she has accomplished her goal for the day.

At age 27, she’s achieved what most people spend the better half of their careers working toward: a stable job at the New York Times as a photo editor and a seat on the committee that selects the lucky participants of the Annual New York Portfolio Review. All portfolios are submitted by interested photographers but their names aren’t attached to their work. It’s similar to a blind audition. All participants are supposed to be judged by their talent and not their established reputation and name.

It’s a highly sought after event. Not only does it represent a coveted stamp on your resume, it also provides an immeasurable amount of access to photo editors, curators, gallery owners, critics, and book publishers. Getting accepted is an excellent way of catapulting your career and also gaining more exposure. Plus it’s free.

It’s one of Betty’s favorite parts of her job. The amount of sheer talent is overwhelming in the best way. Plus, she feels like she gets to truly interact with the artists, helping them with the whole process: artwork selection, matting, framing, and exhibiting.

Her computer emits a tinkling sound and she realizes she has a meeting in a few minutes. She collects the pile of approved portfolios and exits her office, giving them to her assistant, Ethel.

“Ethel, these are good to go. Can you pass my selections onto the rest of the board?” Betty asks as she places the large pile on the desk.

“Of course, I’ll send them right over,” Ethel responds pleasantly. Her eyes dart over to her monitor. “And, you have a 3 o’clock with Mr. Keller.”

“Yup, on my way now. Thank you!” Betty calls out.

00000000000000000000000000000000

Kevin booked this meeting with her pretty last minute so when Betty walks into the meeting room, she’s already apprehensive.

This only increases when she sees the devious smile on Kevin’s face.

“What?” she asks.

“Okay, so I think I may have found the perfect guy for you,” Kevin starts to say, running towards the door when he sees Betty turning around in the direction from where she came.

“I don’t need to be set up,” she hisses out.

“It’s not a setup!’ He corrects. “It’s just casual drinks between two single and attractive people. You haven’t even seen his picture yet. What if he’s super hot? Which by the way, I can confirm that he is.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “Kev, I love you. I really do. But you know dating is not a priority for me and it never has been. You’ve known me for four years. What makes you think anything has changed?”

“Yes yes, I know I know,” Kevin replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Independent woman focused on her career, of course, of course. That doesn’t mean that if you just happen to find love along the way you can’t indulge in it. I mean, I’m practically serving this guy up to you on a silver platter. Just take a little nibble.”

“I-” she opens her mouth to object but no words come out. “There is seriously so much to unpack there that I don’t even know where to start.”

“So, does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“No, Kevin. None of that is me saying yes.”

Kevin swipes a few times on his phone and then shoves the picture in her face. “Look how hot he is though!”

“Does he have any other characteristic qualities besides hot?” Betty asks. She hates to admit that Kevin is right. The man on the screen is very attractive.

He has umber brown skin and deep, dark eyes. In the picture, he appears to be playing with a golden retriever, laughing happily as he hugs the dog.

“Wow, you’re really coming out with the big guns, aren’t you?” She surmises. “You know I like cats more though.”

“Ughh that is not the point, Betty! You are seriously going to end up old and alone without my help, I swear. I’m presenting you with an attractive, single man with a great job. He works as the marketing manager for Tiffany’s!”

Betty gives him a nod. “Like the diamond?”

“Yes, like the diamond! God, just imagine the ring you could get. I bet he gets a massive discount.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes. “One coffee! Please, no more discussion of diamond rings and fantasy engagements. We haven’t even met yet.”

“You know I’m part psychic, right? I’m telling you I can sense that you’re going to meet your one true love this year.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she gives her best friend slash co-worker a hug. “So did you have anything work-related to talk about?”

“No, of course not.”

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_**16 weeks until Opening** _

Trev is really nice. And sweet. And charming. And just overall, a lovely human being.

He’s attractive, has a well-paying job, and doesn’t seem to be a serial killer or a psychopath. Theoretically, he ticks all the boxes.

Except there’s like zip sexual attraction going on.

Betty leans back against the wooden chair, busying herself with her coffee cup as she listens to him relay a story about how his dog, Buddy the Golden Retriever, got so excited about the squirrels one day while he was walking him in the park. Buddy ran full force at them and instead of letting go of the leash, Trev foolishly decided to run after him, still holding on. This is how he ran smack dab into an aging willow tree.

“Oh my god,” Betty says through small bursts of laughter. “Were you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I was fine,” Trev reassures. “No cuts or bruises. Really just my ego that was injured. Also, this little old lady was walking by and scolded me because apparently, that tree is very old and historic.”

“So you were hurting the tree by running into it?”

“Yes, with my face,” he adds. “It was my face’s fault.”

He is objectively handsome, sitting across from her, his smile so wide and genuine. Her heart sinks in her chest because she knows that she can only see him as a friend and nothing more.

Maybe Kevin’s right -- she is going to end up old and alone.

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She loves the feel of matboard.

Betty is well aware that it is a strange thing to like. There’s something about the texture of the material, it’s firmness that she enjoys. It’s not flimsy; it’s sturdy and smooth. She arranges the small collection that she’s purchased for the photographers, categorized by color and thickness.

Personally, she doesn’t think she has the talent to photograph. But she loves framing. Having worked at a frame shop in college, it was there that she first discovered her love for it. She still remembers all the blood, sweat, and tears that she dedicated towards that small store. She sort of stumbled into it; there was a posting for a part-time framer at the local college cafe. She tore off a stub and that was that.

That was where she met Jughead Jones for the first time.

He had been handsome, mysterious, and brooding -- pretty much all the characteristics that would make up a Byronic anti-hero. She was drawn to his biting wit and his talent. He was so young -- the same age as her. But his photography was phenomenal.

He had an eye for it, an inherent trait that you possessed, not a skill to be learned.

Fondly, she remembers the long afternoons when they worked, when they both didn’t have class, he conjoining frame fragments by hand and she cutting mats at his side. She’s not sure how many hours they spent together all those years ago, probably countless.

He had a long-term girlfriend though, Trula. So she never let herself go there with him.

Instead, she chose to simply be his friend and admire and support his artwork. It was difficult to turn those types of emotions off though. He was her first real crush and she spent many of her college years pining after him, imagining what could be. They lost touch after graduation but a part of her still thinks about him sometimes, especially when she’s working with anything related to photography or matting and framing.

Which in her line of work is essentially every day. So yes, she thinks about him quite often, more often than she’d like to admit.

She wonders if she ever crosses his thoughts.

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_**12 weeks until Opening** _

The New York Times rents out the entire exhibition center.

The space is vast, composed of white-coated metal pillars and cement. The ceiling is all exposed piping and the walls are made of blank white plaster.

It’s bland, without any personality which makes it perfect.

Betty and her team start to set up the area. Each of the selected exhibitors will get their own space, separated by moveable partitions. The front portion will be a makeshift gallery space and the entire back part will be the work area where the photographers can mat and frame all their artworks.

It’s a huge undertaking but that’s why the photographers and the photo editors have two and a half months to prepare for the big unveiling.

The city’s most prestigious photography critics and scholars are invited. It’s a magnificent event. Every year, Betty looks forward to it. Kevin’s favorite part is, unsurprisingly, the big gala at the end where everyone gets dressed up, drinks glasses of champagne, and celebrates the artwork of talented photographers.

Betty’s is the process. She loves getting into the thick of it, actually helping the photographers with artwork selection of what they want to exhibit and every step after that. This year, she’ll be assigned to work with three people.

The names of the artists aren’t announced until the day they arrive. Some of these people are already established names in the industry, looking to further their career and broaden their network. Others are brand new, up and coming artists.

They are all equal, however. Here, it’s all about improvement and mastering their craft.

She tries to emulate this psychology in her own life. The focus should be about making her future all the better instead of focusing on her past -- on what could have been, alternate histories, and what-ifs. It’s all pointless because it’s not possible.

So, she forces herself to forget.

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_**11 weeks until Opening** _

Monday morning, Betty arrives at work super early. It’s barely 7:00 AM which means that she is the only person in the office. The sun has just started to rise. Sipping her coffee, she tells herself that she’s here this early because someone needs to be available for any last-minute preparations.

Except this whole event is planned down to a tee, because she’s involved, so there’s not much for her to do. Leisurely, she opens her email and starts to check it, still sipping at her caffeinated drink.

The President of the Board sent out the assignments this morning. She clicks on it.

Antoinette Topaz. Joaquin DeSantos. Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.

Antoinette’s name sounds familiar, Betty’s sure she goes by Toni in a professional context though. The other two names don’t ring a bell.

First up, Betty inputs Toni Topaz into the search bar. The first thing to come up is her website and she clicks in. Immediately, she recognizes some of her work from her submitted portfolio. Her range is phenomenal -- she has everything from portraits to landscapes to still lifes. It seems like Toni dabbles in a bit of everything. Betty’s eye is drawn to one particular series that was recently exhibited at the Studio Museum in Harlem.

The series of works, all done in black and white, shows Toni dressed in all black standing in front of famous museums, back turned towards the camera. It’s evocative. The imagery is deliberately meant to be uncomfortable. It challenges the viewer to question the narrative, especially the ones traditionally presented by these cultural institutions.

Betty starts to click through the images, falling further into the web, absolutely mesmerized by Toni’s work. She’s clearly an already established artist. Participating in this review would mean more exposure and a wider platform for her to disseminate both her artwork and mission.

She doesn’t know how long she spends on Toni’s website but by the time that she finally moves onto the second photographer’s website, Joaquin, her coffee is empty. Betty pulls up his page and quickly ducks out to the lounge to grab another coffee.

It’s still early but people are starting to filter into the office. Betty presses a few buttons on the fancy coffee machine and soon, she’s armed with another cappuccino. Before she can make it back to her office, Kevin intercepts her.

“Morning! Time to go!”

“Go?” she asks, brows furrowed. “Go where?”

“Ethel said the photographers are already starting to arrive so it’s time for us to head down,” he explains.

Her eyes widen and she checks her phone. “It’s just past 8 AM.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Kevin replies amusedly.

“They’re here that early?”

“They’re excited, Betty. Does this surprise you? This happens every year. Though, to be fair, last year the first person arrived at 9 AM so this is an entire hour earlier.”

She sips her coffee and nods. “Yeah, that’s a good point. Let me grab a few things and then I’ll head down. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sounds good. See you down there,” he calls out as he retreats towards the elevator.

000000000000000000000000000000

Armed with her laptop, phone, and a full cup of coffee, Betty enters the exhibition space. There are a surprising number of people already bustling around and she feels slightly guilty that she didn’t come down earlier.

Making a beeline for her section, she sees that two people are already standing in the area. One is a tall man wearing black jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket. His back is turned towards her. The other is Toni Topaz who is dressed in black jeans, black tank top, and a mesh see-through top. Her long hair is down, brown-tinted with bright pink. She’s even more gorgeous in real life.

Betty approaches them both, quickly setting down her things on a nearby table.

“Hi guys, I’m Betty Cooper. I’m so excited to be working with you both-” Her voice trails off when the man turns around.

It’s Jughead Jones. Jughead Jones is standing in front of her. She thinks back to the email assignment and puts two and two together: Forsythe Pendleton Jones III -- of course.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, kind of like the torturous feeling of when you have the wind knocked out of you. Your chest expands and contracts, trying to fill it with air but it’s physically painful to do so. Her voice dies in her throat for a moment and she forcibly clears it, making a loud noise that causes both Toni and Jughead to look at her with concerned expressions.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Betty says, immediately apologizing. “As I was saying, my name is Betty Cooper and I’m one of the photo editors here. I’ve been assigned to work with you both in addition to another photographer so I’m excited about this collaboration.”

She is so grateful that she has rattled off this same exact speech for years now so the words are familiar and she can recite them without any issues. Meanwhile, she tries not to panic and instead tries to regain her composure.

_Don’t look into his eyes. Don’t look into his eyes._

“Hi Betty, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Toni Topaz,” she greets with a bright smile. “Jughead and I go way back and we’re both familiar with Joaquin’s work too. It’s a pretty small community.”

“Hi, Betty,” Jughead murmurs. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Betty replies softly before she steps forward with an outstretched hand.

He looks at it for a second in amusement before taking it. They shake hands.

His hand is warm and rough. She thinks that if she traces her fingertips across his open palm, she could understand the story of his life, where he’s been since the last time that she saw him all those years ago. Each indentation and coarse crack of the skin would tell her so much. Every line would have a story.

His touch is magnetic. She doesn’t want to let go but she does anyway because of propriety.

Toni gives them both a curious look but Betty promptly ignores it. Instead, she starts to explain what’s expected and all the different goals that they should accomplish within the next few weeks. She leads both Toni and Jughead through the general layout of the space. When they arrive in the back where all the matting and framing supplies are, Jughead pipes up.

“This is impressive, Betts. There’s even a wall-mounted mat cutter,” he comments.

“Well, I got enough nicks and cuts doing it by hand so I figured this would be a preferred alternative for most people. I still prefer to do it by hand, call me old-fashioned,” Betty explains with a small smile.

“Betty, did you used to work at a frame shop in college?” Toni asks suddenly.

Jughead turns towards Toni so Betty can’t see his expression. Her green eyes are colored with confusion.

“Yes, how did you know that?”

Toni smirks and clasps her hands in front of her, stretching slightly. “Call it a hunch.”

Before they can delve into it further, Jughead clears his throat and points towards the other side of the expansive space.

“What’s over there?” he asks.

“Oh!” Betty brightens and continues the rest of the tour.

She never sees the look that the two friends share behind her.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_**10 weeks until Opening** _

The orientation is over and now it’s strictly business. For Betty, it has to remain professional. This is her job. This is the mantra that she constantly reminds herself.

Nothing can happen. They work together. She’s a professional. She’s meant to help him.

It’s been a week since Jughead Jones sauntered back into her life. She hasn’t been counting. It just so happens that there’s a big countdown clock that is displayed at the entrance of the exhibition center that serves as a constant reminder of how much time they have to put this all together.

So really, that’s the only reason why she even knows that it’s been a week. It’s not like she’s been thinking about it constantly or obsessing over it. Not at all.

That would just be silly and Betty Cooper is not silly. _She’s a professional._

Her game plan is simple. She has set down two ground rules for herself.

 **Rule #1:** Remain professional. She will still help Jughead to the best of her abilities, equal to the amount that she will dedicate towards Toni and Joaquin.

 **Rule #2:** Maintain distance, both physically and emotionally. She will not get tangled up in Jughead Jones’ web again. He is always eternally and elusively unavailable.

He’s probably not interested anyway.

This is her plan and she feels instantly relieved because she loves guidelines and rules. This will work.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000

Joaquin’s photography is masterful.

During Betty’s first conversation with him, he mentions that he used to study music before deciding to pursue photography. This starts to become more evident as Betty studies his photographs. His work is lyrical, weaving together shadows and angles in a way that she’s never seen before in all her study.

He has over 40 photographs spread out on the large table. Joaquin and Betty sit side by side on metal stools, both bent over and looking through all the images.

“I love this one,” Betty murmurs, pulling it closer to where they’re sitting.

It shows the main street of a town in Sicily, one that is known for having produced several prominent Mafia members. The scene is almost idyllic however, showing people on horseback or walking, going about their normal day. There is an ominous cloud that hovers in the background but what draws the eye’s attention is the young girl that’s in the foreground, taking up almost half the space of the entire composition.

The girl is curious. She looks upwards at something or someone, a friendly, open expression on her face.

Joaquin explains the story behind the photograph and Betty listens intently to it.

“I think life is about contrasts,” he says. “This small town has a notorious reputation yet there’s still so much innocence and happiness there. That’s what this photograph represents.”

“That’s really important to remember,” Betty agrees easily. “The five photographs that you choose to display should not only be aesthetically pleasing but they should mean something to you. The audience can always tell when the subject matter goes deeper.”

“Then I definitely want this one,” Joaquin replies.

“Great!” Betty claps her hand together. “We’ve got one selected. Four more to go.”

He smiles at her and they return their attention back to the work at hand.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

She knows she’s staring again but she just can’t help it.

Jughead is so goddamn hot and it’s incredibly distracting for her work flow. She’s managed to catch herself the last three times that her gaze has unwillingly traveled over to him but she knows she’s bound to slip up at some point. She probably already has.

So, she needs to stop because this is embarrassing. She is 27-years-old. She is not a blushing schoolgirl. She is not a foolish college student with a stupid crush on the most charming and attractive man that she’s ever set eyes on.

It’s hard not to stare though.

He’s wearing a simple grey t-shirt today but the cotton molds his muscles so well. He lifts a photograph up in the air against the light and his bicep bulges with the movement. Her green eyes trace over each line and sinew in the muscle. It follows the path of the shirt curving over the muscle, the fabric stretching from the tension.

Yup, she’s definitely staring again.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

There’s something so deeply personal about Toni’s photography.

It almost feels like an invasion of privacy to look through the lens of what she's showing, like an intrusion on a moment you’re not really supposed to be looking at.

Betty can’t help but stare. Her work is absolutely stunning and unapologetically reflects Toni’s beliefs. It’s inspirational, how forward she is in her work about her point of views. It’s a stark reminder that art can be political and should challenge you and sometimes, make you feel uncomfortable.

Betty is transfixed with two images. The first shows a woman at work, aptly titled ‘Mom at Work’ that depicts a woman throwing her arms back, a wide smile on her face. She might be celebrating something but the pure happiness that shines through the image is unavoidable. It’s beautiful.

The second shows two black women at a kitchen table. One is sitting down and the other woman stands, running a comb through her hair. The woman sitting down has her eyes closed, her head leaning into the touch. This moment feels so private, like it should be just between the two women shown, but Betty finds that she can’t stop looking at it.

It’s mesmerizing.

“I love these two,” Betty says quietly, pushing the two photographs towards the center of the table.

“This one is a part of a whole series,” Toni explains, pointing at the one with the two women. “I’ve always believed the kitchen is the heart of the home. This series reiterates that.”

“I agree. It’s where people come together.”

“Exactly. It’s the nexus of every household -- where family meetings happen, where you eat, where you do your homework, where you tell everyone how your day was. This whole series is a reflection of that.”

“It’s beautiful,” Betty murmurs. “What are your favorites?”

“It’s really hard to pick,” Toni admits with a sigh. “Each of these photographs has its own individual story and having to pick only 5 is like me saying these are the only stories I want to tell.”

“Think of this exhibition similar to a gateway. It’s what will introduce a wider network of audiences to your artwork. So the 5 you pick doesn’t need to be cumulative, it just needs to be representative,” Betty explains.

“That’s helpful.” Toni pushes the two photographs that Betty picked out to one side of the table. “This is going to be a process.”

“That’s why I’m here to help,” Betty replies encouragingly.

“You know, you’re almost exactly how I envisioned you to be,” Toni comments.

“What do you mean? Like when you were assigned me as your advisor?”

Toni hesitates for a moment, uncertainty flashing in her eyes as she hedges. “Yes, exactly. Then.”

“Am I just as anal-retentive and a rule follower as you expected?”

“No, not at all,” Toni says. “You’re just as kind-hearted and supportive as I imagined you to be.”

This response confuses Betty but she decides not to push it, especially as their conversation moves onto another photography series of Toni’s. They focus on that instead.

But the whole time, Betty wonders, what did Toni mean by that?

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_**9 weeks until Opening** _

Betty hasn’t been avoiding Jughead, per se, but really, only interacting with him on an as-needed basis. It’s the easiest way to make sure that she maintains her emotional distance from him. For all she knows, he could be married with kids. Even if he isn’t, she’s not going to go down that path again. She spent the majority of her college years pining over Jughead Jones. Meanwhile, he dated Trula Twyst that entire time and never once, ever indicated that he was interested in her in a romantic sense. So really, there is no need to return to that past of unrequited admiration.

She takes in a deep breath as she approaches his station with her laptop in hand. She can do this. Plastering the biggest smile on her face, she walks up to him, greeting him brightly.

“Good morning!”

“Morning,” he replies before he returns his attention to the blueberry muffin in his hands.

Maybe she should’ve gotten something to eat too, she wonders as she stares longingly at the baked good. It’s probably better this way though. She doesn’t need more carbs -- her mother’s strict upbringing still affects her diet choices even now as an adult, no longer under her thumb and control.

Jughead pulls another muffin out from his knapsack, still packaged in saran wrap, and pushes it towards her across the table.

“I-”

“I could see you staring, Betts. Just eat it. I’d be willing to bet good money that you didn’t have breakfast today,” he tells her, still chewing on his muffin and looking through his photographs, not even looking up at her.

She’s so caught up in her thoughts about retorting and arguing that she doesn’t even realize that he called her by a nickname. Instead, she focuses her thoughts on Rule #1: Remain professional. She swallows the tick in her cheek and opens the clear packaging, stuffing a bit of muffin into her mouth. Banana nut, her favorite.

Of course.

For some reason, this only serves to annoy her more.

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They’ve been at this for hours.

Her vision is starting to blur with how many photographs that she’s stared at and mulled over. Jughead has a huge breadth of work and the amount that he submitted for review is almost twice the amount of Toni or Joaquin’s. She lets out a sigh and starts to massage her neck, cocking it to the side.

She almost jumps up in shock when she feels a pair of rough and calloused hands around her shoulders, pressing gently. Going to turn her head to look at him, she feels him stop her gently so her gaze is still fixed forward.

“Wh-What are you doing?” She manages to stutter out.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replies simply. “We have a whole other batch of photographs to get through. I can’t have you getting tired on me now.”

“Oh,” she says quietly.

His hands are dexterous, smoothing out all the tension in her neck and shoulders. When he hits a particularly sensitive pressure point, she has to bite her lip to keep from moaning. He presses his thumb into the lower part of her neck, working her through the knot, easing the tension away. She faces forward in direction so she has no idea what his expression is currently. Maybe that’s a good thing.

Rule #1: Remain professional. Rule #2: Maintain distance.

She is currently doing neither of those things but she can’t help it. His hands feel so good and right against her body, pushing away all the stress. His touch gets gradually lighter and when he finally pulls his hands away, she finds that she misses the way they feel against her skin.

Her green eyes blink a few times as she recenters herself. He’s staring at her, taking her in slowly, and she immediately tenses up again. Clearing her throat, she taps her fingers against the photograph in front of her.

The subject matter is simple: a halved onion. Yet the way the juices glisten and the curves undulate -- it’s almost sinful.

“This one is my favorite of the still-lifes,” she says.

If her response is not what he expects, he doesn’t show any surprise.

“I’ve always liked doing this -- elevating simple household objects or vegetables, in this case, to a higher level. An onion is still beautiful,” he explains.

“As is a pepper, I suppose.”

He smiles at this. “That’s my personal favorite.”

“It’s almost seductive, the way you depict them.”

“I’d agree with that. Why should my care and attention be any less for a vegetable?” he poses the question.

She doesn’t answer it. Instead, she grabs the photograph of the pepper and sets it in front of them. “I think I stared at this one for hours when I first looked at your portfolio. I didn’t know it was you that submitted it at the time but there was something so oddly familiar about it.”

“You remember my work?” he asks.

“Of course, I do. You were always so incredibly talented. Your work took my breath away, even back then.” She’s saying too much, revealing too much of herself, she knows it. She’s just opening herself back up to get hurt all over again.

He stares at her, his blue eyes boring into her own.

“How is Trula by the way?” she asks.

“She’s not-” he pauses, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know. We’re not together anymore. Haven’t been for a while now actually.”

Before she can respond, Kevin approaches the table and taps his foot against the cement ground, the sound pulling both Jughead and Betty out of their conversation.

“Lunchtime, Betty dearest,” Kevin demands. “You still haven’t given me all the dirty details of your date?”

“Date?” Jughead asks.

Betty shakes her head, shooting Kevin a glare. “That was weeks ago,” she practically hisses out.

“Yeah, exactly my point! It’s been weeks and you still haven’t given me a single tidbit. Did you ghost him? Oh god, please don’t tell me ghosted him,” Kevin laments.

Betty rolls her eyes and flashes Jughead an apologetic smile. “We’ll pick this up again after lunch. You should go eat too. I’m honestly shocked that you haven’t already devoured your second lunch by this point.”

She doesn’t give him time to reply. Instead, she pulls Kevin away from the table and section with more force than needed.

“I told you weeks ago that I wasn’t interested in Trev,” Betty finally says in annoyance when they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” Kevin replies with a smirk, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Then what the hell was that?”

“I was just testing the waters a little bit. You know tall, dark, talented, and broody has a thing for you, right?”

Her eyes bulge at this comment. “What? Who?”

“What do you mean, who? Who else could I possibly be talking about? Jughead Jones, you simpleton.”

She resists the urge to smack him upside the head. “Oh you mean, always unavailable Jughead Jones? Yeah, he probably has a girlfriend or a wife. I’m not letting myself go there this time around.”

“Wait, what?”

Betty lets out a sigh and shuffles her feet awkwardly. “Crap.”

“Do you guys have a history or something?” Kevin asks, all too pleased at the turn of events. “You’ve been holding back, my dear.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I want to talk about this so this is all we’re going to be talking about over lunch.” He links his arm through Betty’s. “My treat, of course.”

Well, there’s no hiding from it now.

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Lunch with Kevin is only semi-traumatic. She manages to hold off most of his questioning by giving him a short and sweet backstory about her and Jughead’s history.

“There’s really not much to tell. I just had a crush on him in college.”

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t get to just pretend like it meant nothing. I need details. How long? How intense? Were feelings confessed?”

_4 years. Moderately intense, okay that’s a lie, it was pretty intense at times. And of course, not._

After she answers his questions mostly not lying, she begs, “Okay, can we please stop talking about my pathetic dating life? What about you?”

This tactic works out well and it sufficiently distracts Kevin.

“Okay, can we talk about Joaquin? Please tell me the entire story behind those mysterious blue eyes.”

Betty laughs at this and happily divulges everything she knows. At least, this way the attention is off of her.

The rest of their lunch break passes by relatively quickly and when Betty returns to the exhibition space, she sees that Jughead’s station is still empty. He must still be eating.

She gets to work anyway and soon after, another 20 minutes have passed. Deep in her thoughts, she’s roused out of them by a loud laugh. Her head snaps up and she sees Toni and Jughead entering the room, Toni playfully shoving Jughead away as she throws her head back, cackling over something he just said.

Well, damn. This again.

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	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second part is a behemoth but lots happens so I hope you enjoy! Remember that Explicit Sexual Content tag? If it's not your thing, skip the entire last part of the chapter ;)
> 
> Thanks Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for being the best beta ever. Love you!
> 
> Artwork referenced: [Lorna Simpson](https://d7hftxdivxxvm.cloudfront.net/?resize_to=fit&width=640&height=265&quality=80&src=https%3A%2F%2Fd32dm0rphc51dk.cloudfront.net%2FxWusIjq730YzvDIFzq3qhw%2Flarge.jpg)
> 
> Song referenced: _Where Does the Good Go? by Tegan and Sara_

_But we were something, don't you think so?_  
_Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool_  
_And if my wishes came true_  
_It would've been you_  
_In my defense, I have none_  
_For never leaving well enough alone_  
_But it would've been fun_  
_If you would've been the one_

_“The 1” by Taylor Swift_

_**8 weeks until Opening** _

Toni and Joaquin have both made their final selections and have moved onto the next part of the process: matting and framing the photographs.

Jughead hasn’t and it’s annoying.

Betty stands by his work station, hands on her hips as she stares at him, irritation clear on her face. “Jughead, we’ve had this same argument for the last week and a half. You can’t pick all the peppers. I actually think you should just do one vegetable.”

“How am I supposed to choose between these?” he asks.

Briefly, she wonders if he’s doing this on purpose to piss her off. He’s not normally this indecisive. She pushes the hair out of her face and walks up right next to him, so close that she can feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Close your eyes,” she instructs.

He shoots her a confused look and starts to shake his head.

“Don’t argue. Just do it. Close your eyes.”

Betty gathers the five photos of peppers that he’s deciding between and grabs the first one, holding it in front of his face.

“Open your eyes,” she says. “Is this the one?”

“Uhhh,” he pauses.

“Give me an answer, Jug. Don’t think about it.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Okay, close your eyes again.” She sets the photo down in the reject pile and grabs the second. “Open your eyes. Is this the one?”

“No.” His response is quicker this time, almost instantaneous. Betty smiles at this.

“Close.”

He does as she asks. She places the second pepper photo in the reject pile. Grabbing the third photograph, she holds it up in front of him.

“Open your eyes. Is this the one?”

He seems to stare directly into her eyes as he says, “Yes.”

Betty sets it back down on the table with a wide smile. She claps her hands together. “Excellent!”

“So what? We just do that for all the photographs?”

She shrugs. “If it works, it works.”

This seems to convince him and he flashes her an all too charming smile. “It works.”

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“I think you should go with the pure white and not off-white. It’ll make a bigger contrast,” Betty suggests as she holds up the mat corners to Joaquin’s photograph.

They stand at the back corner of the exhibition center in the matting and framing section. There are at least ten different mat corners spread out around the table, each a shade of white or ivory. Joaquin examines the two different colors a little closer and nods.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. The off-white makes it look almost faded.”

“I agree.”

They’re interrupted suddenly by a loud screech coming from Toni’s workstation. Joaquin and Betty look over and see Toni raucously laughing while Jughead is smiling about something. He’s clearly teasing her about some unknown topic. Betty’s eyes narrow as she watches the way the petite brunette leans in closer to him before Toni pushes Jughead so hard that he nearly falls off the stool.

Betty resists the urge to curl her fingertips into her palms. Instead, she takes in a deep steadying breath and turns in her chair so Toni and Jughead are no longer in her line of sight.

“Okay, so now the frame,” she says, moving them on to the next step.

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“So, Cooper,” Toni drawls out. “What exactly do you do besides this?” She ends her question with a wave of her hand around their current surroundings.

Betty bends over the table, Exacto knife in hand as she cuts the board along the straight line of the ruler. “What do you mean besides this?”

“I mean besides work,” Toni explains as she fidgets with a corner of the table. “You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Someone waiting at your apartment that you go and hang out with after your hours here?”

Betty furrows her brow at this. That seems like an awfully personal question to ask a professional colleague. She clears her throat uncomfortably. “Uh no, no one except my plants.”

“No significant other? Really? Pretty girl like you?” Toni asks again, this time a devious smile on her face. “So what do you do with all your spare time?”

Betty shrugs as she lines her ruler up again, making another swift cut. “I read a lot. I cook, I bake, I clean. I don’t really know what you want to hear.”

“All excellent hobbies,” Toni comments. “You know who else likes to read and also eats a lot? Jughead.”

Her brows furrow even more as Betty cocks her head to the side. “Uhh okay?”

“Maybe you could invite him over to your place one of these days to do that.”

“To read and eat?” Betty asks, completely confused.

Something that looks similar to panic flashes in Toni’s eyes and she clears her throat. “You know, maybe you could invite all of us? That’d be good for group bonding, right?”

Betty considers this for a moment, setting down her Exacto knife. “I guess that’s a valid point. It’s a good way to build camaraderie.”

Toni snaps her fingers together in agreeance. “Yes, exactly! That’s what I meant.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll try and put something together. Maybe I can invite Kevin too,” Betty says as she thinks a little more about it.

“Yeah, that boy has the biggest crush on Joaquin so I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Lots of obvious crushing going on around here,” Toni answers cryptically.

Again, Betty’s not sure who she means.

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**_7 weeks until Opening_ **

Betty’s one-bedroom apartment is nice and relatively spacious for Manhattan. She’s never had more than two people over at the same time though, much less four. It’s a little intimidating especially since she definitely doesn’t have enough table space or chairs. She knows she’s going to have to eat standing up which is fine. Anything to be the perfect hostess.

As she cuts the basil into chiffonade after putting the vegetarian lasagna into the oven, she replays the conversation she had with Toni over in her head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment in which she managed to agree to this nonsense. She checks the clock on the stovetop -- in approximately 36 minutes, Jughead Jones will be in her apartment, along with several other people.

She had spent most of the day obsessively cleaning, not that her apartment wasn’t tidy in the first place. But she had so much excess energy that she needed to get out in some way. Cleaning seemed to be the most productive method.

So now her countertop is actually gleaming and there’s not a speck of dust in sight. She’s still a mess of nerves and anxiety on the inside though. Undoing the apron, she hangs it back up in its proper place and heads into the bathroom. She splashes some cool water on her face; it’s refreshing and it calms her down a tiny bit. She glances at her watch.

_31 minutes._

Pulling her hair tie out, she fluffs up her hair a bit so the crease from her ponytail isn’t as obvious. She thinks about trying to do something with her hair but then decides against it. This is just a dinner amongst colleagues. There is no one to impress here.

_30 minutes._

She puts on a recommended Spotify playlist and is slightly comforted when the music starts to filter out through the speakers. There are 30 minutes to kill and everything is already prepared. The lasagna is cooking, the table has been set, and the wine has been poured. She grabs the book she’s been reading and attempts to distract herself for a bit but she finds that she can’t concentrate. Her green eyes skim the same line over and over again.

_27 minutes._

It’s almost as if she’s counting down to something that she’s dreading. In a sense, she supposes she is. Her apartment is her refuge; where she goes to find solace after a hard day at work or a terrible date. It feels a little strange having so many people over at once, invading her privacy.

_24 minutes._

She’s about to get up and start pacing when she hears the knock at the door. Brows furrowed in confusion, she wonders who it could possibly be. Kevin is almost always 10 minutes late to everything and none of the photographers seem like the early bird type. Walking to the door, she flings it open only moments later.

Jughead Jones is 23 minutes early. She tries to tamp down her surprise and offers him a gracious smile.

“Hi, welcome. Come on in,” she greets.

He compliments her apartment, follows her in and hands her a bottle of wine. She stares at it for a few moments in surprise when she turns it over, the label coming into view.

“This is my favorite wine,” she tells him.

“I remember.”

Two words -- such a simple statement and yet it throws her brain into overdrive as she tries to figure out exactly what he means by _I remember_. They seem to hold so much weight.

He doesn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil. Instead, he moves to her living room and starts to look at the framed artworks on her wall. He leans forward in front of one, eyes widening.

“Is this Lorna Simpson?” he asks, impressed.

Setting the bottle of wine down on the counter, she moves to stand next to him.

“I was down in Miami for Basel and Kevin mentions that this very extensive private estate was auctioning off all their treasures at next to nothing. Apparently, the heir wasn’t interested in art or determining the true value of the collection so it was essentially a yard sale to get rid of everything. I found this,” she points at the triptych, “stashed in the back of the garage, on its side, the frame completely falling apart, corners splintered with the plexi cracked. Thankfully, the piece was unharmed but I bought it for $500. Can you believe that?”

“That’s insane. I mean this is probably worth-”

“Tens of thousands,” Betty breathes out. “I thought the same thing. So, I tossed the frame. It wasn’t original anyway and rolled the photos up to bring it back with me to New York. I custom made this frame for the work so it looks both individually framed but still fits together as a cohesive whole.”

“It’s phenomenal, Betty,” he says ardently, leaning in to examine it further.

He turns to her for a moment, staring at her so intensely that she’s instantly uncomfortable. She wants to open her mouth to say something and break the silence but she has no idea what. So instead, she just bites her lower lip, noticing the way his blue eyes darken at her movement. He takes a symbolic step forward, his hand coming out to gently graze hers that’s resting by her side.

The air between them grows heavy and she can feel the weight of it on her shoulders. She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his face. His thumb continues to make small circles on the top of her hand and the sensation sends tingles down to her toes. She wants him closer. She needs him closer.

Then they’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

Betty jolts out of his touch and takes a step back, as if burned. She offers him a conciliatory smile before she shuffles towards the door, uncertain if she’s grateful or pissed off at the intrusion.

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Dinner goes off without a hitch.

Whatever uneasiness or uncertainty that she may have had was immediately dissipated when Betty opens her door to Joaquin, Kevin, and Toni all congregated together on the other side. It seems serendipitous that they would all arrive at her apartment at the same time but Betty doesn’t comment on it. She ushers them in with a bright smile, happily accepting the flowers and additional bottles of wine.

Betty carefully and meticulously plates each and every piece of lasagna, giving Kevin a grateful look when he immediately stands up to serve them. It goes unnoticed by almost everyone that there are only four chairs set up by the table, only two of them are at the same height. However, it’s almost a non-issue because Jughead situates himself on the couch, still close enough to the table that he only has to crane his neck a bit to catch the flow of the conversation. When Betty approaches the table with extra grated parmesan, she’s surprised to see him there, having expected that she would be the odd one out and fully accepting that.

He doesn’t make a single remark about it and neither does anyone at the table.

So with a small smile in his direction, she sits down and takes a big bite of her food.

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They’ve polished off their third bottle of wine. As Betty gets up to open the fourth bottle, the one Jughead contributed, she’s thankful that her guests brought extra bottles because she certainly doesn’t have enough stocked up for the bunch.

Ever the dutiful hostess, she refills everyone’s glasses before finally attending to her own.

Toni takes in a big gulp and narrows her eyes suddenly, lifting the glass up to the light, the wine sloshing against the sides from the movement. “Why does this taste so familiar?”

Jughead grabs the wine glass out of her hand and sets it back down on the table in front of her. “You’re drunk, Ton,” he says warningly.

“I’m fine!” She retorts, drawing out the vowel. She snatches the glass back up again and takes another sip. “I know I may look small but I can handle my liquor.”

Joaquin snorts from her right and hides his smirk as he also takes another sip of his wine. Kevin reaches over to him and squeezes his knee, giving him a flirty smile. He also takes a drink and gives Betty a look.

“Betty, you know I love the Riesling but do you have anything else? This is way too sweet for me,” Kevin says.

“Oh,” Betty startles and gets up to head into the kitchen, Kevin following behind her. “I think I might have some vodka in the freezer. Let me check.”

“Riesling!” Toni squeals. “Jones, do you remember when you were obsessed with that wine for like three years? It was all you would drink which was so freaking weird because we all know you love whiskey, not white wine.”

Betty has her back turned to the group but Toni’s talking loud enough that she’s sure even her neighbors can hear the recollection. She reaches into the back of the freezer and grabs the hidden bottle of vodka. There’s hushed arguing behind her but she doesn’t pay attention to it as she searches for a tumbler for Kevin.

“Toni, shut up. Shut up right now.”

“Why are you hushing me? Stop-”

“Uhh, do you guys need me to leave you alone so you can have a moment?”

“We are not having a moment. I’m trying to get her to stop talking before she says something she’ll regret.”

“What are you talking about? I live my life with no regrets always.”

When Betty and Kevin rejoin the group at the table after a few moments, she hears more hushed whispering between Jughead and Toni. They’re clearly disagreeing about something.

“What’d we miss?”

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**_6 weeks until Opening_ **

It’s hard to believe that almost a month and a half has passed since Jughead Jones returned back into her life like an all-encompassing whirlwind. Some days when she’s around him, it feels like she can barely catch her breath.

It’s been more than five weeks since they’ve started working together again and somehow, he’s managed to break down every single one of her barriers. She knows as well as him, at that dinner a few days ago, they were going to kiss. They had been so close.

She feels like an idiot. Rule #1: Remain professional. Rule #2: Maintain distance.

These rules were established for a reason but somehow, he’s still found a way back into her heart, even unwillingly. She knows she’s falling for him again and she hates herself for it.

Especially since at this very moment, she is sitting at Joaquin’s station, helping him hinge some photographs onto the mats while her green eyes stare holes into the backs of Toni and Jughead.

They’re laughing together again. They do that a lot. There’s something so easy and natural about the way that they interact with each other and it only serves to make Betty more frustrated and jealous.

Toni represents everything Betty isn’t. She’s bright and captivating, always full of energy and goodwill. She’s a trailblazer, someone that people look up to. She’s also the most compassionate and uniquely talented photographer that Betty’s ever had the privilege to work with. And to top it all off, she is jaw-droppingly stunning.

It’s hard not to compare herself to Toni who is multi-talented and brilliant. Betty hates that she feels this way especially since she warned herself against it, going into this scenario.

She let her guard down around him and now he’s taking over her thoughts and desires. She hates herself for repeating history.

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A few days later, she gets to work early and finds Jughead bent over the table saw cutting plexi. Her hair is already up in a ponytail so she throws her bag on the workstation desk and rushes over. She puts on a pair of goggles and earplugs, moving to the other side of the machinery.

“You really shouldn’t be using this alone,” she chides loudly as she spots him.

He shoots her a smirk and continues to push the plexi through, yelling back. “It’s not my first time using this, Betts.”

It’s hard to talk over the noise so they don’t say anything else until he’s done and shuts the saw off. Betty removes her goggles and earplugs, putting her hands on her hips.

“It’s not safe.”

He throws a few scrap pieces into the trash bin before he turns back to her, the smirk still ever-present on his face.

“Still not a risk-taker, I see.”

She stiffens and stands up a bit straighter, jutting her chin out in defiance. “Losing a finger isn’t a risk I think is worth taking.”

Jughead takes a few steps forward so that he’s standing right in front of her, bodies so close to touching. “And what is a risk worth taking, might I ask?”

His breath is warm; she can feel it against her cheek as she turns to look down, away from him. If she gets any closer, she knows he’ll burn her alive.

She can’t have that again. So she takes a symbolic step backward. She sees what she thinks is disappointment flash in his blue eyes.

“I can’t think of one,” she says honestly.

“I see,” he replies, dismay evident on his face.

She takes another step back and gestures towards the work areas. “I should probably go and help Joaquin.”

Not waiting for him to reply, she walks away, unable to suppress the feeling that she may have just done something she would come to regret.

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_**4 weeks until Opening** _

Things are slightly weird between them after that. Jughead is still perfectly pleasant to her but there’s an air of neutrality in the way that he speaks when it’s directed towards her. No nicknames, no endearments, no teasing -- just professionalism.

This is what she wanted, right? So, now that she has it, why is she troubled by it?

They’re working together in relative silence, only the music from his phone filtering through the air. It’s some indie-pop band and she wants to make a smartass comment about how his music tastes haven’t changed a bit in all the years they’ve been apart but she doesn’t.

A part of her feels like she shouldn’t. Like she should respect these boundaries between them. So she tries her best to. Besides, she actually loves this band and this song.

As she works, she sings along softly, “ _Look me in the heart and unbreak broken, it won't happen._ ”

She’s almost finished with editing his written text for the gallery labels that will accompany the photographs. To her left, he sits across from her at the workstation, completing the rest of the matting. When she gets to the last label text, she frowns, confused.

“Jughead,” she calls out, getting his attention.

He looks up at her, waiting for her question.

“Why are there only three label texts? There should be five.”

“Oh, I changed my mind about the last two photographs. I’m not going to use the shell or onion,” he tells her.

“Wait, what? Why not? They’re great photographs and we’ve already done all the work to prepare them. I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. It’s two new pieces that I’m working on now. It’ll be ready by opening, I promise.”

She goes to open her mouth to argue but he returns his attention to the mats in front of him, turning up the volume on his phone. The music continues to blast through the speaker.

_Look me in the eye and promise no love is like our love. Where does the good go?_

All the protests die on her tongue and she sighs, returning her attention to the document in front of her.

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“So, what’s up with you and tall, dark, talented and broody? Things seem a little tense between you guys lately,” Kevin asks as he digs into his salad.

Sitting across from him, Betty stabs her fork into the greens in her bowl a few times, practically turning it into a puree. “Nothing, nothing at all. It’s completely fine.”

“Right, that’s convincing,” he says, giving her a pointed look.

She drops the fork, the metal clanging against the side of the porcelain bowl. “I think my feelings are coming back. You know, the ones I had all those years ago? God, this is so stupid of me. I’m not a pining schoolgirl anymore. I’m an adult. I should be able to get a handle on this better than I have.”

“Oooo,” he purrs out. “So, old feelings are resurfacing, ehh? What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to do absolutely nothing about it,” she bites back. “He’s not interested in me like that. He never has and never will be.”

Kevin scoffs loudly and points his fork at her. “You may be brilliant, my dear, but you are also completely blind if you don’t notice the way that Jughead Jones stares at you like he’s a man that’s been subjected to dehydration and you are that tall drink of water.”

“That is a very specific analogy,” Betty comments.

“You’re missing the point.”

“No, I got your point. I just don’t think it’s true so I’m ignoring it.”

“You can't keep your head in the sand about this forever, Betty. Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips and she practically coughs it out. “That is probably the worst idea you’ve ever suggested.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Talk to him, please. Maybe you can even score a date to the opening because of it.”

Kevin’s words jolt through her spine and she sits up straighter when she realizes it -- a date to the opening. She definitely does not have a date to the opening and will very likely not be able to acquire one for it. God, she didn’t even think about this. Or the fact that she’s going to have to spend the entire event jealously staring over at Jughead and Toni while they dance around in formalwear and likely get showered with compliments by the different scholars and curators attending.

Oh goodie.

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_**3 weeks until Opening** _

She doesn’t talk to him because why would she subject herself to that emotional torture?

So they continue on as they have, just being purely professional colleagues. Betty doesn’t have much time to focus on it anyway since it’s less than three weeks until opening and they still have so much to get through. She spends most of her days running around from one point to the other, making sure everyone is on the target timeline.

Installation starts next week and then it’ll be time for the opening. After that, Jughead Jones will walk out of her life again, for the second time. At the point they are at now, she’s not sure if he’ll stay in contact. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t.

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_**1 week until Opening** _

Betty and Joaquin stand together in front of the blank wall space, adjusting and re-adjusting the order of the framed photographs. She moves the bar photograph to the middle.

“What do you think? That way the woman in the image is looking towards the next photograph and not away from it,” Betty explains as she takes a few steps back to assess the lineup for herself.

“What if we did this,” he starts to say before he moves forward and rearranges the first three framed works, swapping their places. “Better?”

“Yes, better,” Betty agrees. “What do you think? Ready to hang?”

“I think so,” Joaquin says nervously.

She turns to him and places a reassuring hand on his forearm. “It’s going to look so great. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“I love it,” he says with a nod. “That’s what’s most important.”

Betty readily agrees before she walks over to the art handlers, instructing the crew to begin the installation. A few burly guys join her and start to make the appropriate measurements on the wall, marking it with a pencil.

“How high?”

“Center line at 60 inches,” she directs.

She and Joaquin stand a few feet away, watching the crew work. Jughead and Toni appear next to them after a few minutes, standing side by side.

Toni claps her hands together excitedly. “It’s finally happening, Quin! This already looks amazing.”

“You’re next,” Betty says with a smile. “And then you, Jughead.”

“Oh, actually, I don’t need help with hanging. I can do that myself,” he replies evasively.

Betty furrows her brows in confusion. “What do you mean you don’t need help? They’re a professional installation crew, Jug. We let them hang everything because they’re efficient and it guarantees everything will be uniform.”

“Okay and I’m telling you that I don’t need help,” he retorts.

“Jughead-”

Betty starts to argue but Toni steps deliberately between them, trying her best to keep the peace.

“I’ll help him, Betty. I promise I won’t let him mess it up. It’ll all be ready to go by Friday. You have my word,” Toni says.

Betty flounders for a moment, wanting to tell him that this is not the Jughead Jones show and that he can’t just do whatever he wants but she knows it’s pointless. If she says that, he’ll probably still hold his artwork as hostage anyway. He’s so annoyingly stubborn and definitely won’t budge on this.

“Fine,” she breathes out. “But I take no responsibility if you guys can’t meet your deadlines.”

“Of course,” Toni replies before Jughead can jump in. She shoves him away, cocking her head to the side and motioning for him to leave the vicinity.

Betty pays no attention to them.

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_**Opening** _

The opening is always an extravagant event and this year, there is nothing different. Betty glides past the spotlights and the gathering crowd, heading into the space through the staff entrance. She breathes out a sigh of relief when she finally sees the fruits of her labor before her.

It’s beautiful -- everything is perfect.

She grabs a glass of champagne and downs a big gulp, hoping it’ll calm her nerves. Taking in a deep breath, she walks towards the clusters of people gathered together, spotting a few familiar faces. The minutes drag on as she moves from critic to reporter to gallery owner, making sure to provide the right quotes and schmooze when needed.

For the photographers, this is a celebration but for her, it’s still work.

She winds through the crowd, happy that she decided on sensible heels tonight instead of the 6 inch monstrosity that Kevin originally suggested. If she had worn those, she’d probably be crouched in a corner, tending to her bleeding feet.

Spotting Toni, Joaquin, and Kevin, she waves at them before she walks over. They’re all standing in front of Joaquin’s section.

“This looks amazing. I am so proud of you!” Betty congratulates as she leans in to give Joaquin a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He says his thank you before returning to his original place next to Kevin, standing close to him. Betty shoots Kevin an intrigued look and Kevin responds by mouthing the words “it’s official, we’re dating”.

She grins widely before she turns her attention to Toni and a stunning redhead wearing a tight, shimmery red dress with a plunging neckline. The color should theoretically contrast with her bright red hair but it doesn’t at all. She carries it with such an air of confidence and assuredness.

Betty is automatically jealous of her for these reasons. She takes a step forward, hand outreached for a handshake. “Hi, I’m Betty Cooper. I worked with Toni and Joaquin on making this project a reality.”

Giving Toni a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, she’s not prepared for Toni’s next words.

“Betty, this is my wife, Cheryl. Cheryl, Betty,” Toni says, making the introductions.

Her green eyes widen almost comically at these words. Kevin, who is standing next to Betty, nudges her and she recovers.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says with a scratchy voice. She lets herself fade into the background of the conversation for a moment as she realizes what Toni just said. She’s married. Which means that she was never romantically interested in Jughead anyway and what Betty thought had been excessive flirting was really just two friends continuously teasing one another.

It’s a startling realization.

She feels herself being pulled away after the conversation dies down. Tugging her arm back, she shoots Kevin a confused look.

“What are you doing?”

“I was saving you from yourself. I take it that you were today years old when you finally realized that Toni is bi and married?” Kevin questions.

“I-I didn’t know. I thought she and Jughead were-”

“What? Flirting? Gross and absolutely not. Get that heteronormative bullshit out of here. They’re basically like brother and sister.”

She hangs her head in shame. “You’re right. God, I feel like such an idiot. All these weeks I’ve been trying to keep my distance from him because I thought-” she sighs. “I guess I don’t really know what I thought. I just assumed they were together.”

“Betty, I’ve been telling you since the beginning that Jughead has a thing for you. Why is it that you took that information and just threw it out the window? Why did you latch onto this assumption that he’s with Toni?”

Betty sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I guess I just always assumed he would be unattainable. It’s easier to peg him as that instead of trying to reconcile my own feelings.”

“And what are your feelings?” Kevin asks.

“I think I’m still in love with him.” The words slip from her lips and she brings up a hand to touch her mouth gently after she speaks. “I’m such an idiot. He didn’t feel the same way then and he certainly doesn’t feel the same way now.”

“Have you seen his work yet?” Kevin questions suddenly.

“What? Yes, of course, I’ve seen his work. I spent weeks sifting through his portfolio,” she answers like it’s the most obvious thing.

“No, I meant have you seen his work displayed tonight? Have you been over to his section yet?” he clarifies.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Go now.” He starts to usher her in that direction. She slaps his hands away and starts to walk over, grabbing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

The first thing that she notices as she approaches is that Jughead was right. He did know how to install artwork and the photographs look fantastic against the white wall -- all evenly spaced and at the correct height.

As she gets closer, she realizes that he changed out the original selection -- there are two images that don’t look familiar at all. They’re the first ones that she stands in front of as she strolls up to the wall. There’s no one else around and she realizes then that she hasn’t spotted Jughead yet. She would’ve expected him to be by Toni and Joaquin but he’s nowhere to be found.

The first three images are familiar -- a battered door, a sprawling field, and the pepper. The last two are not what she expects. They’re not still-lifes or landscapes; they’re portraits, of a sort. The woman depicted has long blonde hair cascading down her back and she’s turned in profile. She looks to be working in a shop of some sort, focused on whatever she has in front of her, not paying any attention to the camera. It's candid; a snapshot of real life.

It’s her. The woman is her, from all those years ago. The setting is the frame shop that she worked at in college.

She moves onto the next photograph and recognizes it as the very exhibition center that she’s currently standing in. The composition is simple -- it’s a view of the space but when you peer closer, there is a woman hunched over a table in the far right. She’s diligently working, similar to the previous photograph.

Again, it’s her. It’s her from present-day. Betty remembers the outfit in the photograph that she’s wearing from a few weeks ago.

She pulls back for a moment in confusion. Why does Jughead have these images displayed? There’s a short gallery label next to the photographs and she reads it, skipping past the tombstone information and onto the descriptions.

_These last two images depict my muse, from then until now. It’s always been her. It’ll always be her._

The breath escapes from her lungs and she stumbles back in shock, unable to comprehend this information.

She needs to find him.

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Jughead is nowhere to be found and it’s unbelievably infuriating.

She debates texting him to demand just exactly what he means by the label and the photographs. She thinks she knows but she needs to hear the words from his mouth before she lets herself dare to hope that he may return her feelings.

He’s unattainable. That’s what she’s been telling herself for years. And suddenly, he’s within her reach. Unexpectedly, he has feelings for her too?

No, her brain can’t accept or process that. She needs confirmation from the man himself. Except, he’s nowhere to be found and she’s just about ready to tear through the room as an outlet for her frustration.

The space instantly feels oppressive and hot. She needs to get out of here. Heels clicking against the cement floor, she moves fast, ducking in and out of the crowd, hoping that she won’t be stopped by anyone. Thankfully, she escapes without further notice, and briefly, she praises the New York Times for dishing out the cash to rent a space with a big balcony.

It’s empty. There’s no one out there except her and she immediately walks to the edge, looking over the railing down at the busy Manhattan street below.

The night air is warm but as the wind picks up, she unconsciously shivers, the breeze skimming her bare shoulders. She feels something silky enveloping her and she turns, surprised.

“Jug,” she breathes out. She pulls at the suit jacket that he just put over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Are you having a good evening so far?” he asks, as if he doesn’t have two photographs of her displayed inside the exhibition space right now.

“It’s been enlightening to say the least,” she replies. She stares straight ahead at the night sky that’s dotted with stars. “I saw the photographs.”

She leaves it at that, waiting for him to explain himself.

“You did?”

“I did. They’re of me,” she says quietly.

“They are,” he confirms.

“I don’t understand-” she starts to say as she turns to him, her green eyes glittering like emeralds under the moonlight.

“They’re of you because it’s always been you,” he confesses softly. “I think I’m just as much in danger of falling for you all over again like all those years ago.”

He moves closer, his eyes skimming over her face, settling on her lips. “That’s a lie and I promised myself I would be honest with you tonight.” Reaching out, he grabs her hand and rests it safely within his own. “Betty, I think I’ve loved you for almost half my life now. I’ve loved you for so long now that I don’t even remember what it’s like to not feel this way.”

“What about Trula? I thought you were-” she asks, faltering for a moment.

“She was my high school sweetheart,” he admits. “And for the longest time I thought that was what love was -- what I had with her. And then I met you and it was so different. It was so easy with you -- hanging out and working together. And it was like my feelings just hit me in the face one day. I walked into the shop for a shift and you were there in the back, hard at work, and all I could do was stare and watch you because I knew then. It was undeniable. I was in love with you.”

“But you were with Trula.”

“Yes, I was. It was very disconcerting when you realize that you’re in love with someone that’s not your long-term girlfriend,” he admits. “I broke up with her pretty much as soon as I realized it. I just walked out the door of the shop, turned on my heel, and went straight to her to break it off.”

“That was why you never showed up that day?”

“You still remember that?”

“Of course, I remember that,” she tells him ardently. “I remember everything. So, if you broke up with her, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because that same day, you went out on a date with Michael Newman.”

“Oh.”

Michael Newman, her college boyfriend for all of two months.

“So, I didn’t say anything. I don’t even know how long you guys dated for but the timing wasn’t right and I just told myself I had to either keep my feelings for you to myself or I needed to get over it.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything about breaking up with Trula?”

“Because I knew if I told you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. I would’ve kissed you. I would’ve confessed and I didn’t want to put you in that impossible situation. It would’ve been wrong of me to put that burden on you, especially when you seemed happy with him.”

“I wasn’t happy with him, Jug. It’s why we broke up so soon. We were barely even dating, honestly. I was just-” she pauses for a moment, debating her next words. “I was just trying to distract myself,” she says honestly.

“What are you saying?” he asks, his voice suddenly so many octaves deeper as he continues to hold and caress her hand.

“I’m saying that we’re both idiots. I’m in love with you too,” she says with a grin. She leans forward, her breath light against him as she stands on her tiptoes.

Their lips meet and the sensation is both everything she imagined it would be and not at all. Fireworks explode behind her eyes as they kiss -- that she expects. What she doesn’t expect is how everything else fades away in slow motion. She forgets about everything else except the feel of his lips against hers.

How long has she imagined herself in this very situation, kissing Jughead Jones? An innumerable amount of years. Yet, it’s exactly what she needs.

He tastes divine -- so intoxicating and it makes her knees go weak. She leans further into him, practically clutching at his dress shirt. He pushes his tongue into her mouth, massaging hers slowly, as if he’s savoring every second of it. When he finally pulls back, a whimper escapes her lips unwillingly.

She stares up at him with her wide, green eyes -- waiting and expecting.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“But the opening?”

“Fuck the opening. I don’t care about any of this. You know that, probably better than most.”

“You’ve worked so hard for it, Jug. We both have. We should enjoy it,” she protests.

“I’d rather enjoy you,” he says to her lasciviously, his gaze intense.

She flushes under it and turns away from him, her feet already bringing her to the entrance. “Come on, a few more hours won’t kill you.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters under his breath.

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Her lavender dress floats around her body as he twirls her. He pulls her back and Betty collides into Jughead’s chest with an audible oomph. He holds her hands against his hard chest as they continue to sway to the music.

“Why did you enter your portfolio?” she asks suddenly.

The music continues to fade in and out around them. There are so many other people dancing around them but they don’t see any of it. Their focus is purely on one another.

“I wanted the exposure,” he answers simply.

She snorts at this response and rolls her eyes. “I thought we were being honest with each other tonight?”

“What do you want to hear, Betts?” he asks, his mouth at the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She can feel the goosebumps beginning to rise. “Do you want to hear that I submitted my portfolio because of you?”

She shivers in his grasp and turns to look up at him. “Did you?”

His face looks open and vulnerable, like he has so much he wants to tell her but he’s terrified of doing so at the same time. “Yes.”

It’s such a simple word. And she knew it would be his answer but she wanted to hear it from him directly. He did this for her. He came back into her life because he wanted to be with her.

He’s not unattainable. He’s always been hers. She just didn’t know it.

God, she’s an idiot.

She smiles and rests her head back against his chest, breathing in his scent and losing herself in the warmth of his heart and his embrace. His hold on her body is so tight and they continue to sway together, long after the song has ended and people have dispersed off the dance floor.

“People are staring, Jug,” she whispers against him.

He doesn’t stop swaying or holding her. “I don’t care.”

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His apartment is really nice. It’s considered an artist loft in design but it’s definitely not as bohemian as it sounds. It overlooks the East River and is situated smack dab in the middle of Dumbo, which means that he is way more successful as a photographer than he’s led her to believe.

“This is your place?” she asks as she walks into the open concept space that’s lined with brick walls. She tears her lips away from him and he visibly grabs after her but she avoids him, continuing her mini-tour. “You have hardwood floors. You have a dishwasher.” She points out before she opens the door to what looks like a closet. “You have your own washer and dryer?”

Her voice is incredulous as she stands in the middle of his living room, hands on her hips. “You are no starving artist, Jughead Jones.”

“I didn’t say I was,” he says with a shrug as he kicks off his shoes. He pads into the living room to join her.

“You have floor to ceiling windows in what appears to be a one-bedroom apartment in one of the most expensive real estate neighborhoods in the entire country.”

“It’s actually a two-bedroom,” he corrects.

Her eyes get wide in incredulity. “You didn’t need this network.”

“I didn’t,” he agrees.

“But you did it anyway. You sat next to me for weeks listening to me give you advice to boost your career and portfolio.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” he answers before he pulls her body into his. “Enough talking,” he murmurs before he crashes his lips to her again.

She gasps before he swallows it, pushing his tongue into her mouth as if he wants to consume her whole. Melting into him, she’s barely coherent as his hand comes to her back and he unzips her dress in one swift movement. The dress slips off of her body and pools at her feet. She steps out of it and pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders. Then she starts to unbutton his dress shirt with shaky hands.

“Why does your suit have so many components to it?” she asks, annoyed as she practically rips the shirt from him. She eyes the undershirt and gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is actually standard for suits,” he starts to say before she pushes him back against his couch which looks very similar to one that she was salivating over in a home design magazine.

He collapses onto it and lifts up as she pulls his slacks down his legs so they gather at his feet. She kneels in front of him, a smirk present on her face as she rids him of his black boxers next. Her right hand encircles his hard cock and she pumps him a few times.

His breath is coming out in hot pants as he stares down at her through a lidded gaze. “Fuck,” he grunts out as she continues to move her hand up and down.

Her head descends as she flicks her tongue out at the weeping head of his cock, smiling to herself when she hears him curse loudly. His hands grip the couch cushions and he thrusts his hips lightly into her face, a stream of obscenities escaping.

Then she closes her lips around him, sucking him deep in her mouth. Her lips make an audible pop as she releases him and then she licks a thick stripe from the base to the tip. She repeats these movements again and again. All too soon, she feels him stiffen underneath her, his entire body stilling for a moment before suddenly, she’s being pulled up and onto the couch.

He immediately brings his lips down to hers, kissing her hard and thoroughly. She whimpers against him and is about to argue that she wasn’t done yet when he stops her, saying against her lips, “I want to come inside you.”

Well, she doesn’t have a retort for that.

She straddles him, his hard cock hitting the curve of her ass and she grinds down at him, needing more friction. He rids her of her bra easily, tossing it to the other side of his expansive living room. His rough hands come up to the underside of her breasts as he caresses them, his mouth moving forward to capture a nipple. His tongue laves over it and she pushes her chest further into his mouth as she continues to move against him, loving the delicious drag of their bodies against one another.

One of his hands continues to massage her breast while the other comes down to her juncture, seeming to touch everywhere except where she really wants it.

“Stop teasing,” she moans into his mouth.

“What do you want?” he asks. “Tell me.”

“Touch me.”

He smiles widely at her and follows her instruction, ripping her panties off with one swift gesture. She opens her mouth to complain but he stops her, kissing her again as he strokes her clit. He rubs her sensitive nub as a finger enters her.

She gasps audibly again, pulling away from his mouth for a moment. Hiding her face in the crook of his neck, she moans her approval as he continues to pump his finger in and out of her as his thumb rubs her clit. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as she feels her body cresting, her release crashing through her as she slumps against him.

“I need to be inside you,” he murmurs to her.

All she can do is nod numbly against him as he continues to bring her down from her peak, rubbing soothing lines into her back. He lifts her up easily, cradling her naked body against his as he walks towards what she assumes is one of his bedrooms. He deposits her on the bed gently and she moves back towards the headboard, drawing her knee up as she watches him.

He crawls onto the bed and over her body, giving her a sweet kiss before he reaches over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Tearing it open and then putting it on quickly, he returns to her only a moment later, capturing her lips.

She can feel him, hot and heavy against her center. Arching her back, she lifts her hips towards him, desperate to have him closer and inside her. Suddenly, she feels her whole body being pulled towards the edge of the bed. Her eyes fly open and she takes him in, standing upright, his hand on her calf as he continues to pull her closer. He presses his cock into her then and she gasps when he’s finally fully seated inside her completely.

She feels so full. There’s just something different about doing this with him. He hits deeper, finding parts of her that she didn’t even realize existed. His hands come up to her thighs to push her legs apart wider and she relishes in the burn and the pleasure of him thrusting even harder and deeper inside of her.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenched as he looks down at her.

She moans in response and throws her head to the side, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. He pauses in his thrusts, his hand coming out to push her chin back towards center. She opens her eyes, green meeting blue.

“Don’t close them,” he instructs before he resumes his powerful thrusts.

All she can do is nod and agree. She’ll agree to anything at this point as long as he doesn’t stop hitting that nerve center in her. His hand moves to her hips, his thumb pressed so tightly into her skin that she knows he’s going to leave bruises.

It’s difficult to keep her eyes open. She wants to close them and lose herself in the sensation. She doesn’t even notice that she does it again until she feels him lower his chest so that he’s right on top of her, never stopping his thrusts. He nips at her neck.

“Watch,” he commands.

She looks up at him first before her gaze moves down to where he’s entering her, eyes affixed to the way he disappears inside her over and over again. There’s something so raw and filthy about it but she craves it, addicted to the feeling.

Her legs begin to shake as he pushes her closer and closer to that perfect moment. When she falls over the edge of oblivion, her vision gets blurry and the waves of rapture crash over her body. He thrusts into her a few more times, his hips moving choppily before he finally grunts and follows her.

They lie there, a mess of entangled limbs but all she can focus on is his heartbeat, so close and so loud. She finds comfort in it. He pulls away to clean up and the feeling of loss is instantaneous. She can’t let go of him now; not when he makes her feel like this.

They’re both silent, neither wanting to speak first. They talked, yes. Feelings were confessed but there’s still so much that she wants to say to him. It’s been years and years of pent up emotion that she wants to reveal to him. She wants him to know it all.

Maybe tomorrow. Not now.

He pulls the covers over their naked bodies as she curls into him, her head resting on his chest. It’s toned with a smattering of freckles and hair that tickles her nose.

She doesn’t know how much time passes with them holding each other like that. When she finally pierces the silence, her question isn’t what he expects.

“By the way, it’s a little weird that you photographed me in secret and never told me. I mean, don’t you need my permission to use my face?”

Laughter rumbles in his chest and with her ear pressed up against him, she can hear each rise and fall of his interrupted breath.

“Do I have permission to use your face?" he asks, pulling her even closer.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too late,” he whispers against her. “Not for us.”

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End file.
